


Keep My Heart (I Shall Always Return to You)

by zeke_mc_fleek



Series: The Griffon and the Nightingale [1]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Eventual Smut, F/F, Past Torture, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Romance, Slight Canon Divergence, Slow Burn-ish, Warden has PTSD from her torture in the Fort Draken dungeons, only a little shh
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-09
Updated: 2018-08-19
Packaged: 2019-06-27 15:26:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,886
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15688206
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zeke_mc_fleek/pseuds/zeke_mc_fleek
Summary: A Grey Warden for roughly five years now, Valynne Mahariel has barely a clue that the Fifth Blight has even started, save for a letter delivered via bird from none other than Duncan, a fellow Warden who conscripted her. All because of her inevitable capture in Denerim, where she had hoped to stock up on many essential items before trekking to Ostagar. Fortunately for her a Grey Warden, Cloister Sister, dog, Chasind Witch, Qunari, and a Circle mage happen upon her on the day of her public execution.((I will try to update this whenever possible!! Also update the tags as I go, if need be. POV will switch between Leliana and my Warden, but remain in third person.))





	1. Chapter 1

Leliana

Refugees were beginning to cluster into Denerim, escaping the Darkspawn and local bandits alike. The streets, and especially the market center, were proof of that. Sten led the way through the crowd, a sea of people and we were drowning in the center. At least the crowd seemed to part ways for the towering Qunari, creating an ample pathway to follow. Now that the demon possession had been taken care of back in Redcliffe Castle, the group's next step was to find Brother Genitivi, a man who should be able to point them in the direction of the sacred ashes of Andraste. The young Cloister Sister, Leliana, clutched her hands together in silent glee at the thought of finding such a holy artifact in this mortal world.

_To see it with my own eyes..._  

With a sudden thud, Leliana's thoughts are pushed aside as she bumps into Alistair from behind. 

"Sorry!"

The tall Grey Warden had slowed to peruse the merchant tables they walked by, not really hearing her. But they're all on edge, because Loghain and his men are somewhere nearby, because his guards prowl these roads on watch, and they are all wanted fugitives, as was proven by the men who confronted Alistair in the tavern back at Lothering. Leliana places a hand on his forearm, urging him forward silently so that they make it to the inn without being recognized, though having an angry looking Qunari with you can turn some heads nonetheless. The thought makes her giggle softly to herself. Perhaps, after they purchase a room for the night and begin their search for Brother Genitivi, they can look at the various shops for things they may need; herbs, potions, things to improve their weapons and armor against the onslaught of blighted creatures. Sten must have spotted the inn, because his movements pick up pace once more as he leads the way, but Wynne's voice, filled with concern makes Leliana and Alistair stop in their tracks and look in her direction.

"Oh my," the old mage murmurs.  
  
"Maker," came Alistair's soft agreement through an outward sigh.

Near the Chantry was a small wooden stage, hastily built right in the market area. On the ground in the front was a single stockade, and within that single stockade was a thin, mangled looking Elf. While some stopped to gawk at the poor hunched over creature, most tended to look in the other direction and go on with their business. The Elf  didn't seem to care either way, a curtain of black hair obscuring her face from view. In fact, the body looked lifeless. Leliana, unable to handle the sight of one of the Maker's creations treated so cruelly, shifted to intervene, but Morrigan's stern hand closing around her shoulder causes for pause.

"Tread lightly, Nightingale," the witch of the wilds warns, nodding in another direction.

"Maker," the Warden repeats, this time a low grumble of anger.

Coming from over the bridge was none other then Teyrn Loghain, followed by an entourage of guards. It made Leliana wonder if he was paranoid about something. At the sight of the Teyrn approaching the low stage and the prisoner, her heart leaps into her throat, and now people flock in that direction to see what the powerful man has to say or do. 

"For your treachery at Ostagar, Grey Warden," Teyrn Loghain begins, voice loud and boasting, as though he went out of his way to capture her himself. "You will be hung, come mid-afternoon, right here in the market."

His voice is dripping with power, strength, mocking the Grey Warden that lay there limp in her stockade. Leliana watches, enraptured with the new Grey Warden that is about to lose her life in mere hours. The Sister can understand the beaten down look of the Warden, the helplessness, the sense of it all never ending. _Wanting_ it to end. _Wanting_ to take your own life, if just to end the suffering-

"We must help her." comes Alistair's resolute voice. 

The Warden must have spoken, her words never carried this far out to them, but then Loghain lets out a boisterous laugh: "You filthy vermin tarnish the very ground you stand on. You are no better than the Darkspawn that plague our country." And then, for extra affect, there's a wide swing of his leg and- Leliana can't watch. She has to turn away, focus on something else, but even if she does not see, she cannot cut out the harsh telltale sound of an armored boot striking a person in the face.

The crowd is suddenly in an uproar, with people shouting appraisal towards Teyrn Loghain and hurling insults at the Warden at his feet, a fresh splatter of blood smudging the ground and dripping from her face.

"Kill the Knife-Ear already!" some chant, and soon it catches on, bloodthirsty calls for action against the Grey Wardens for killing their beloved King Cailan. 

The riotous crowd does not begin to calm until Loghain's men quiet them down enough that Leliana can hear the faint, wheezing coughs of the captured Warden. However, before the Teyrn can spot them among the crowd, they slip away towards the inn while they can remain hidden.

"We will free her," Alistair whispered somewhere to Leliana's left, somehow reading her troubled thoughts about leaving the Elf for the moment.

He smiled at her, and she wondered how he remained so positive about everything. Leliana returns his smile halfheartedly, daring to glance back over to the doomed Grey Warden. Slowly but surely, the crowds of people began to disperse, Loghain and his men turning and marching back in the direction of Fort Draken.

And then everything was back to normal, the Grey Warden alone once more with fresh blood dripping from an open wound.

xXxXxXx

"Leave her to her fate," Morrigan hisses once they are all into their single bedroom of the Gnawed Noble Tavern.

"No!" Leliana argues indignantly, arms crossing over her chest. "She is a Grey Warden, a good ally in the war to come."

Wynne nods in agreement. "I can gather some herbs from-" There's was a derivative snort from Morrigan. "-if you have something to add, say it, child."

Wynne was a wise, patient woman, but Morrigan enjoyed to push and push and _push_  the boundaries of those she worked with until patience was worn impossibly thin. Even the elderly mage was at her breaking points, though clearly less noticeable then some others. 

"How do you suppose we'll make it out with a Grey Warden Elf without being noticed?" she drawls skeptically, arms crossing over her chest as she leaned back against the wall next to the window that was shut tight.

That was the elephant in the room, Leliana guessed. No one knew the answer to that, not when there would be guards at the gate leading out of Denerim. Elves tended to get noticed quickly compared to the casual traveler or Chantry Sister.

"She can use my Chantry clothes," Leliana interjects as the idea pops into mind immediately. There's a sharp glint in her light blue eyes, mischievous even. "All we need to do is cover the ears and she will hardly be recognized. I should know."

The last sentence seems to catch Alistair off guard for only a moment, a pause to consider what she had just said. Leliana knows that even a single sentence can give so much away. A habit, a hobby even, or even a secret that could take down empires. Words carry as much weight as a dagger in the shadows or a carefully aimed arrow. But the young Grey Warden doesn't seem to ponder it much longer, as he pounds a closed fist into the palm of his hands, an a-ha moment, perhaps.

"That's perfect, Leliana!"

And then they set to work: Sten and Morrigan go to inquire about Brother Genitivi, in case they needed to leave in a hurry after getting the Warden freed. That's the only reason they were in Denerim in the first place. As those two went to work getting information, Leliana helped Wynne look through the merchants to by herbs needed. Buying everything at once would be suspicious, as though they were planning to use it all at once, but buying the ingredients separately didn't catch a merchant or guard's eye even once. Alistair is keeping watch discreetly, simply walking by the merchant stalls, feigning interest in what goods are offered while keeping an eye out for Loghain or his men. Leliana smiles to herself, eyeing the wares on a table as she silently searches for a distillation agent, a small herb from the Frostbacks that is dried and ground into a fine powder. Then she spots it, a greenish black dust in a clear package. But as she reaches for it, there's a shift in the crowd. People go silent, gaze casting in the same direction. Watching, waiting. It can be subtle at times, depending on the venue, but heads turn thoughtlessly in a certain direction. Leliana stops, the tips of her fingers brushing against the item on the table, and looks up as well out of curiosity. But then her heart drops at the sight of Loghain approaching once more. It couldn't be time already, it had only been an hour, two at tops. They had at least an hour before the execution, enough time to get what they needed and enact their plan. 

"Alistair!" Leliana calls, trying not to sound too alarmed.

"I see it."

He's behind her, hand on the hilt of the blade at his hip, a fierce vice grip so harsh she notices the slightest of shaking. Leliana imagined that he had some unfinished business with Loghain himself after Ostagar. Alistair hadn't gone into detail with her, but he did say some things that the rumors seemed to leave out.

The blood had dried on the Warden's face from Loghain's kick earlier, cracking chips of muddled red on her nose, face, chin, rivulets drying down the curve of her neck before droplets breaking off onto the ground. The Teyrn's men unhinge the stockade she is held in, lifting her up to her feet and tying her hands back behind her back, as if she is any threat in this condition. And as the crowd gathers once more, Leliana watches as the prisoner is paraded up the stairs to the stage and next to a post atop it. The stage looks simply done, as it will probably be deconstructed after the event. There's a pole in the center, another adjacent log sticking out the top end where the rope would be wrapped around and the body hung from. The entire time, Loghain makes a show of it all. The crowd is watching, captivated by the man and everything about him, everything he stands for. 

They weren't prepared for this moment. Leliana's eyes dance about, searching for something, anything to give them more time, the Grey Warden more time. Just a little-

Then Leliana turns and rushes back to the inn where their things are stored in temporarily.

"Leliana?" the old mage questions, but the former bard is gone in a rush of glinting iron armor and fiery red hair.

The longbow is resting on her satchel of things she had chosen to take on her journey. Alone, it is merely a piece of carved wood and string, but as she holds it in her grasp, the weight of what it can do, the harm it can do, the harm _she_ can do, weighs heavily on her frame. Grabbing the quiver of arrows resting against the bedside table, she strings it along her back and hurdles back out the inn, and on silent steps of a trained assassin _(but she is so much more than an assassin)_ , she ducks into an alley, melting into shadows. 

Teyrn Loghain is handed a thick coil of rope by a guard as the Warden is lined up under the beam overhead. A second guard carries a small wooden crate over and sets it down, and they force her to stand on it. This is the first time that her face is fully seen by anyone since she has been in the stockade all day, and Leliana marvels at her features as she comes to stand at a point where she can aim without her view being blocked. The Grey Warden's eyes are blue like her own, but deeper, darker, and she feels like she'll be swallowed up by them if she stares for too long. Her face is painted, her perhaps it is a tattoo that is scrawled across her face, but whatever it is, it's beautiful. It takes her a moment to notice that it's in the shape of a bow drawn taut. The arrowhead is in the center of her forehead, pointing up at the sky, but Leliana catches the curve of the bow shaft that dips down the curves of her face, all the way down to the tip of her chin. Elegantly painted dashes of bold paint strokes along her cheeks and jaws, creating a sort of framing around the bow itself. 

_It is surely a work of art,_ Leliana muses. 

But there is so much damage caused to her lithe body, wracked with malnutrition and abuse. Too many injuries that she can count, and that doesn't include what is under the prisoner wraps that are the clothes she wears. 

"Pray that the Maker looks kindly upon you," Loghain's voice rumbles as he goes about tying the rope over the top piece of lumber.

She doesn't respond at first, simply stares out at the ocean of faces that stare back at her with gaunt expressions. The rope is tossed over the bar, tied together and then pulled tight. With the other side, they begin tying the noose. _She looks proud,_ Leliana notes, pulling an arrow from her quiver and notching it on the bow and taking aim. She's waiting for the right moment, the moment that would release the Grey Warden and cause disorder. 

"Your _Maker_ is not mine, _Shemlen_." Her voice resonates, deep and sober. _"Fen'Harel ma ghilana."_ she curses and spits at Loghain's feet.

The crowd boos and shouts, and the noose is placed around her neck, the length connecting her to the top piece being pulled so that it doesn't go slack when the crate is kicked out from under her. Everything about this is tortuously slow, and Leliana bites her bottom lip in concentration.

"Don't miss," a familiar voice leers

She jumps in surprise at the sound of Morrigan's voice right in her ear, but doesn't stop aiming the arrow at the stage. "Did you find Brother Genitivi?"

"T'is a simple job. Of course."

Leliana opens her mouth to ask more, but then it happens: Loghain kicks the crate out from under her feet, and there's the sickening sound of the rope snapping as her body pulls it tight. The Grey Warden chokes and gags, writhing like a caught fish at the end of a fishing line, only tightening the noose around her neck, closing off the airway. Her eyes bulge like they are going to pop out of their sockets, and Leliana almost falters before letting the arrow loose. The shaft of wood and steel whistle through the air, hitting it's intended target; the rope holding the Grey Warden in midair. It slices through the thick cord, just barely, and Leliana quickly retrieves another arrow and takes aim to repeat.

Loghain's eyes had widened, his eyes flickering out to the crowd in horror. "A traitor!" he wails. "Find them, you fools!" and unsheathes his own blade, ascending the stairs in a rush to find where the arrow came from.

Leliana only hopes that Alistair had escaped the Teyrn's sight to evade detection. 

Morrigan must have taken pity, because she advances from the shadows, body morphing into something else altogether. She ascends off the ground, her body splitting into minuscule pieces that grow wings and dart about irritably, a swarm of bloodthirsty bugs. They're everywhere, and the people of Denerim scream as the first few buzz into sight, followed by more and more, until the market area is filled with these vermin. They scatter, going into nearby homes and the Chantry building, seeking refuge. Merchants leave their stalls unattended to flee, but no one remains in the market aside from Leliana and Loghain's guards, Loghain himself must have ran to seek protection as well before the creatures began to swarm him. She could basically hear Morrigan's laughter at the chaos she was causing. Shaking her thoughts, Leliana aims the second arrow and takes the shot. It cuts through the remaining threads of the rope, but fear grips her chest at the sight of the Grey Warden's body swaying there limply before it crashes to the stage floor with a dull thud. With the guards distracted, the Bard sprints through the swarm and to the stage, stringing the bow along her back along the way. 

"Warden?" Leliana murmurs lowly, kneeling on one knee beside the body and quickly untying the rope from around her neck. 

She feels for a pulse, but can't find one. Fear rises, and she feels about fervently, looking for hope, not wanting this soul to die, not like this. She picks up the Elf's arm, and with her index finger she presses against her wrist, but there is nothing. 

"Oh no," Alistair whispers in defeat, thudding up the stairs as the swarm chases away Loghain's men, keeping them busy from the stage. "We're too late." 

"No," Leliana whispers in disbelief.

Plugging her nose, she bends down and begins to breathe into her mouth in an attempt to revive the Elf. 

_One, two, three... Repeat. One, two, three..._

On the third try of pumping the Warden's chest, the woman's body convulses, and she lets in gasping breaths of air, sucking in breath after breath as she coughs and pulls at the bindings of her wrist behind her back weakly.

"We need to go. Now," Alistair says, relief in his voice, but there's also urgency. Morrigan can't help them much longer before she gets weak and can't maintain the spell anymore.

Nodding, Leliana uses a dagger to cut her arms free, pulling the Warden to her feet and slinging an arm around her own neck to support the small, weak form. 

"I'm ready."

Maker, her body does feel weak. She's lighter then she should be, and Leliana has no problem holding her up and helping her to walk. The Warden leans on her in silence, putting as little weight as possible on the Human. Morrigan stays in the insect form, here, there, everywhere is some kind of hideous looking, frightful bug flying about. But it's a good distraction, and Wynne catches up to the group, staff in hand as they make their escape.

xXxXxXx

They didn't stop their traveling until it got dark, and that's when Alistair finally notices.

"Morrigan, where's Sten?"

The apostate's eyebrow arches, but before she or anyone can say anything, the Qunari is stepping out from behind a line of trees. He's loaded with things, their belongings to be exact. He must have gone back to their room within the Gnawed Noble Tavern to retrieve everything during the confusion.

"Oh! There you are, big guy. We must have looked right over you, heh," the Warden says with a weak chuckle and scratches the back of his neck.

Sten's eyes narrow, and he begins unloading all of their things. They found a small opening in the midst of the woods that was secluded enough from the main road so they couldn't be spotted. Fortunately for Sten, they all didn't carry a lot of stuff with them so it wasn't a lot nor too heavy for him. 

"How could you have looked right over me?" he asks, eyebrows furrowing skeptically. Leliana pauses, waiting for Wynne to unroll a bedroll to lay the new Warden down in. By now, the excitement and travel has tired her out already, and she isn't surprised at all. "I am taller than you," he continues, voice all too serious to be considered a joke.

Alistair halts, eyes going wide in surprise, then he laughs out loud and clasps his palm over his face. Even Wynne and Leliana join in as they help to get the sleeping Warden comfortable on a bedroll and begin to prep a fire. The laughter is nice, even if Leliana feels a little guilty that Sten doesn't understand that they're laughing at his expense. It expels the tension from the day and allows them all to relax and feel normal, even if it's only for a few seconds. But those seconds are blissful, and Leliana cherishes each and every moment while traveling with these people. Everyone settles into their nightly routine. Morrigan skulks away, going to the edge of their little camp and beginning to pitch her tent and make a small fire for herself, Sten begins to patrol the outskirts, often disappearing from view to the ducking back into the light of the dimly lit fire, as if going to inspect something suspicious. For such a large person, Leliana is surprised by the softness of his steps. The contrast makes her smile to herself briefly as she stays by the sleeping Warden's side.

The Warden is in such a deep sleep that at first she may look dead to a passerby, but every once and a while there's the slightest rise and fall of her chest.

Wynne smiles gently. "I'll go prepare our dinner, my dear," she says, placing a kind hand on Leliana's shoulder before standing and walking to the low, crackling flames.

Leliana returns the smile, then looks back over the Warden. Her hair is charcoal black, hints of grey streaks flecking the abyssal color, and she takes her time to thread her fingers through it, fixing it so that loose strands are no longer sticking to her face. Letting out a breathy sigh, feeling tired herself, Leliana begins to go through all of their belongings, searching for the ingredients they wanted earlier. Taking the opportunity presented earlier, Leliana had swiped that last ingredient as everyone was watching Loghain approach the captive. And with that, they had everything they needed to patch up the Grey Warden at her knees as best as they could.

Hopefully.

Somewhere behind her, she hears whistling from Alistair. There are several high pitched tones escaping his pursed lips, followed by long periods of silence. Then a creature pounces in the man's direction, and he lets out a delighted laugh and crouches down to greet the Mabari that answered his calls. 

"There you are, buddy!" he cooed affectionately. 

Leliana is careful when tending to the Grey Warden, not wanting to jostle her from her slumber. She begins with her face, The only real damage is to her mouth. Her lips are cracked and dry from dehydration, a large split in the corner from where she had been kicked earlier today. Retrieving a water-skin from her pack, she wets a cloth and begins to clean the blood off, cradling the sleeping person's head carefully on her lap and in her arm. Fresh blood trickles out of her nose still, remnants that hadn't coagulated yet, and she wipes them away gently. Her other hand is tracing the Elf's markings on her face, realizing they are, in fact, tattooed into her flesh. She doesn't have any tattoos herself, they were never to her desire personally, but Leliana always admired those on other bodies. They held meaning sometimes, a name, a sigil, or even some obscure picture that someone else wouldn't understand. After cleaning the blood from her face and neck, Leliana wrings out the rag and refreshes it before her hand feels something...off. Pulling her hand back in surprise, she searches the side of the Warden's face and gasps as she pushes the hair aside and notices the mauled ear. It no longer parallels the opposite ear. The rising flesh doesn't mold into a perfect tip at the top, but looks torn in half, done so messily that the skin was torn unevenly in some spots, displaying the fat and cartilage below. It's ripe with infection, her ear burning hotly from infection as Leliana touches it gingerly. 

"You poor dear," she mumbles sadly, stroking the ear along the lobe so she doesn't hurt the Warden.

The other ear is perfectly fine and unharmed, in fact Leliana notices the litany of piercings along the outer ridge. The collection of small, simple hoops that dangle from the ear range from gold, silver, and a few bronze here and there. Leliana counts six of the hoops before laying the woman's head on the bedroll gently, head tilted so that she can clean the ruined ear as much as possible. Then she begins to undress her, using a dagger to cut the shirt open down the front for easy access without the hassle of taking the shirt off and potentially waking her up. The Grey Warden's skin is a dark bronze, but it doesn't conceal the tint of bruises along one side of her body, Leliana's eyes trail along the marred body with a critical eye, following the bruising that begins at her hip to where the dark purple and red discoloring ends somewhere under the wrap that secures and flattens her breasts for combat. 

Wynne approaches once their dinner is cooking over the fire, and sighs at the sight. "This won't be easy," she murmurs, going to work with their collected ingredients that she and Leliana had gathered earlier.

Leliana smiles. "Thank you for your help, Wynne."

Her response is a soft and content hum. Going back to the Grey Warden, Leliana was going to continue undressing and assessing her injuries, but as her fingers grip the waistband of the raggety, woolen pants and her other hand holds the dagger to cut, she wakes up suddenly.

The Grey Warden thrashes, eyes alarmingly wide as she fights off her assailant. Her hands fly up, and in the confusion while Leliana is trying to calm her, a sailing hand smacks her across the face and knocks her back. The Grey Warden feels her own neck, fingers curling around one of the two lockets that hang from a chain. By now Alistair had rushed over to help, going to grip her wrists before she injures someone else or herself, but the Elf has gone still, clutching the same locket in her hands almost reverently. 

_"Falon’Din enasal enaste, Ashra."_

The prayer comes out as a rasp, barely audible, her lips parted only slightly to utter the Elvish. Alistair pauses, hands hovering over her in case she acts up again. Her breaths come in deeper now, but on an intake of air, a fit of coughs rattle her body and she cracks her eyes open a sliver once the tremors ended.

"My thanks, _Shem_ ," she whispers eventually, and every syllable seems to cause more pain to shoot through her body, until she goes slack and slips back into sleep once more.

"Well, that's promising," Alistair comments then goes to help up Leliana who is nursing a bleeding nose of her own. "Are you okay, Leliana?"

She nods. "I will be." Her voice is muffled by her hands over her face.

As Wynne goes over to continue tending to the injured Warden, dinner simmering over the fire, Leliana muses that the Grey Warden resembles more of a slumbering dragon than a lithe Elf.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Falon’Din enasal enaste: It's a simple prayer for the dead.
> 
> Fen'Harel ma ghilana: The Dread Wolf misguides you. A curse.


	2. Chapter 2

Valynne

_The wrought iron poker is searing hot, the metal scarlet red as it was pulled from the flames with steady, gloved hands. The Elf, already weak and injured, couldn't subdue the whimper that bubbled up her throat and escaped through her lips at the sight of it._

_"N-No more. Please." She choked back a broken sob, wrists pulling against the restraints around her wrists that bound her hands above her head, left her hanging against the wall in nothing but her small clothes._

_The torturer's expression, unwavering, although distantly in his eyes she could see how pleased he was at all of this, approached with the white hot poker outstretched towards her already disfigured body. As soon as the molten metal was jabbed into her hip, bone deep, a screech tore through her lips unabashed. The scent of burning flesh, bubbling, boiling, filled the room. She could_ smell _herself burning. She began to thrash violently against the stone wall and her chains, her continued screams echoing throughout the dungeon. The laughter and the burning pain begins to fade into oblivion, and Valynne doesn't open her eyes until suddenly her feet are on solid ground, the familiar weight of her ashen grey plated armor bearing down on her shoulders._

_She preferred the dungeons in Fort Draken compared to the sight before her._

_Hands clenching around the hilts of the short swords in each hand, Valynne's heart lurches painfully as her gaze drifts over the Broodmother before her. The Deep Roads, so close to the veins of hot moving lava, was as unbearably hot as the burning poker in her hip previously, and she sweats beneath her armor. But maybe it's not the heat that's making her sweat, but as the hellish Broodmother lifts it's head up and roars to the rocky ceiling, she spots the chain necklace in the folds of it's neck, the silverite ring glinting knowingly._

_"Oh, Ashra," the Warden moans out plaintively, dropping to her knees, unable to look away from the sight of her lover in this horrid state._

_The Broodmother's tentacles raise around her massive body defensively, and Valynne can't bring herself to use her weapons as an onslaught of Darkspawn emerge, charging and swallowing her up whole until everything turns black_

In the waking world, Valynne's body twitches to life as she unconsciously searches for the amulet around her neck blindly. Someone is trying to stop her, to hold her down, and she fights against them. _(It hurts, Creators, please make it stop)._ Finally her fingers wrap around the necklace, gripping it until knuckles turn white and she utters a prayer. Her lungs burn with agony, but as clutches the jewelry close to her heart, electric nerves begin to sooth and the Elf sinks back into the bedroll she's been laid on. With blurry eyes squinting open, all Valynne notices the roundness of the ears and that's all she needs to see before murmuring a quiet thank you to the Humans that rescued her before slipping back into a much more serene sleep.

The next time Valynne opens her eyes, the first thing notices is the abyssal sky dotted with stars and a full moon. The air is cool on her bare skin, and she relishes the feeling of having no shackles on her body or any barred cells to hold her: _Freedom_. She's sitting up, but before she can stop herself, stop the pain, she's sitting up to examine her surroundings. The air is fresh, and to her surprise, the pain that engulfed her body before was replaced with a dull ache that sapped her of all her energy. Yet Valynne couldn't bring herself to lay back down, because with the fact that this was real, brought back energy that she hasn't felt in months. 

She would have cried, in fact, if it wasn't for the faint scent of food that drifted up her nose. Her head snapped over to the culprit: A pit of dying flames, embers alight under a thick pot where the remaining food must be. Her mouth watered at the tantalizing odor, and ignoring the spikes of pain that racks her body, Valynne scrambles up and over. The Elf is so hungry that when she glances into the dark pot, she spots chunks of what looks to be meat of questionable origins floating at the top of the thick stew, but her stomach rumbles violently nonetheless. She's tempted to just reach in with her hand to just scoop out mouthfuls- she's so desperate, and oh how that would fuel the rumors of her people being "savage animals" as told by Humans, but she can't bring herself to care at this moment. You'd eat like a savage too, after nothing but moldy bread for a little over a month. 

"Someone's hungry, I see," a voice giggles from somewhere in the dark.

Valynne internally chastises herself for not being more diligent. Elves have eyesight on par with that of a feline, reflective irises that help them see perfectly in the dark, but why didn't she spot this person? She feels a flush of embarrassment for her actions, and slinks back to her bedroll and sits down cross legged. That's when she finally realizes that she's in nothing but her small clothes. But she's not embarrassed about that, they're better then those rags that were her clothes previously. 

"Forgive me," Valynne apologizes, searching until she sees a woman with red hair approaching. "I don't usually... I'm not..." A savage? A monster that kidnaps and eats children?

"I don't blame you." The Orlesian accent is accompanied by another quiet giggle. The stranger sits down before her, mimicking her sitting position. "Here. I made sure to prepare a bowl for when you woke up."

She hands the wooden bowl to Valynne along with a spoon. "And if I didn't?" she asks, already shoveling food into her mouth.

"Didn't what?"

"Wake up." _What if I died?_

"Oh," she says dumbly after a second. "I would have fed it to the dog."

The Elf goes rigid, head whipping around fearfully. "You have a...a dog?" 

The woman frowns. "Is that a problem? He's a gentle creature, I assure you."

With a soft whistle, a Mabari Hound pounces over eagerly. _Fangs, sharp and long, ripping into flesh like it's freshly baked bread. Barking, growling, and Valynne cries out as she's overcome by three of them sicced on her by Loghain's men._   _The men take too long to get them off the overcome Elf as they chew into her calf, hip, one at the shoulder that hold her in place and draw blood. Each movement of her small body is stopped as they shake her in their jaws, growling lowly and hungrily. Maybe they think she tastes better than what they're usually fed in the kennels, but she doesn't want to know._

"Warden, are you okay?" the stranger inquires, shocked as Valynne jumps up in surprise as the dog comes into the flickering firelight. Her eyes are wide, breaths coming out in short spurts, hard and heavy. She's ready to run, or worse, attack to kill. Her heart is beating wildly in her chest, the bowl of food forgotten on the ground, tipped over with its contents spilled out.

The woman quickly shoos the dog away with a scratch behind his ears. "It's alright, it's alright," she soothes as best she can. She tentatively reaches up, grasping the Elf's hands, and pulls her to sit down. "He won't hurt you. You've been through enough, you poor thing. I am Leliana, you are in good hands here. We want to help you."

Valynne's eyes have dilated, the black swallowing up the dark blue almost entirely. Leliana's hands are cold and inviting against the heat Valynne is radiating, and she hesitantly slips back into a sitting position opposite her. Her hunger had dissipated at the sight of the Mabari Hound, instead her legs curl up into herself and she chooses to stare at the dying embers in the pit.

"You should sleep," Leliana suggests, reading the woman's body language. "We will let you sleep. Wynne did a good job, she's a brilliant mage, and an even better herbalist."

Valynne doesn't argue about getting sleep. She takes another breath of air. It's fresh, clean, and it feels impossibly endless. The dungeons in Fort Draken were dank and muggy, almost always smelling of blood and sweat. Without a word, she lays down on her side, facing away from the fire. Leliana is about to turn in herself for the night, having grown rather tired after staying awake for the Grey Warden for so long. She moves to get up and wake Alistair for a watch, until the Elf speaks up from her spot on the ground.

"Valynne."

She arches an eyebrow. "What was that?"

Valynne turns her head slightly to look over at Leliana. "My name. It is Valynne.  _Ma serannas,_ Leliana."

Leliana stares, watching as she turns her head away once more, breaths coming out more slowly and evenly as she goes back to sleep quickly and more easily than before. 

"You're welcome, Valynne," she whispers with a small smile, then turns to go wake Alistair up for his watch.

xXxXx

 As Leliana had promised, Valynne slept well into the afternoon without interruption. This time, her dreams were much more relaxed.

_"Valynne, you mustn't search for her," Duncan warns, staring down at the bitter, resentful Elf. "You won't like what you see."_

_Her lips thin in disdain, arms crossing over her chest and glaring down at the ground beneath her feet. Highever is beautiful around this time. The surrounding fields, freshly plowed, stretch for miles in every direction. A recruit herself still, just surviving her Joining, she is restless, surprisingly eager to travel despite leaving behind the Dalish_ Sabrae Clan _reluctantly. In Highever to recruit some more, the two Grey Wardens were granted gracious bed chambers for themselves. Her shoulder is braced against the stone wall, heavy plate armor grating gently against the stone._

_"How do you know?" she snaps in return. "Ashra was- is the bravest, indomitable force I've ever been blessed to know! Darkspawn cannot bring her down so easily."_

_His gaze is sympathetic. "Darkspawn have taken down veteran soldiers before." The man's voice is tender, soft and understanding. She hates him for it even more. "They overpowered the both of you."_

_A blush blooms over her dark features, and she looks up at him with her striking blue eyes. "Ashra is different!" Her rage grows, because how dare he assume that her_ Vhenen _can't defend against those mindless creatures. Duncan tries to lay a hand on her shoulder, but Valynne shakes it off before he gets the chance. "Don't touch me!" the Dalish barks and storms out of the bedroom, slamming a gloved fist against the wall in a careless punch and then shouts over her shoulder: "I'll return with Ashra, and I'll have you eating those words until you choke!" Then the door slams shut so hard the wood groans._

Valynne wakes with a slight jolt, shuddering involuntarily as she remembers she's in her small clothes and a little colder then usual. The fire has completely died by now, and everyone in camp is awake. Duncan's voice rings in her ears still, a pang of guilt soon following. That was five years ago, at least, when she was still naive about Darkspawn and what being a Grey Warden was all about. Though it was never brought up around the senior Warden, Valynne should have apologized for her reckless behavior. Whenever she attempted to broach the subject with Duncan, he'd chuckle, say that they were all young and a little more foolhardy then what was good for them. Because surely he knew what Valynne had witnessed on her search for Ashra, took pity for what she didn't know until it was too late, and decided not to unearth the emotions that had surfaced upon making that discovery herself. It had been a lesson in itself, surely. 

Staring at the barren, cold fire pit, she didn't register the approaching footsteps. "Here are some clothes," Leliana offers, but stops short when the Grey Warden doesnt acknowledge her at all. "Valynne?" the Human inquires worriedly, for perhaps she had slipped into some dark corner of her thoughts, where she shouldn't be right now.

When Leliana touches her shoulder gingerly, Valynne almost jumps out of her skin. "Oh!" The Elf blushes, blinks in surprise, then frowns. "I'm sorry, were you talking to me?"

The red-haired woman is watching the Elf curiously, eyes drifting to the left ear that's mangled, before an idea comes to mind. "Turn away," she orders, and the Elf looks away obediently. Valynne wants to ask about the fuss, brows knitting together impatiently as she stares at the burnt pieces of wood leftover from the fire the night before. She's lost in thought, and then there's another tap on her shoulder, and this time she's not surprised at all. Instead, Valynne's more annoyed. "Why are you doing this?"

Leliana frowns. "You didn't hear me talking to you?" she asks. 

"No?"

Her frown only deepens, and Valynne only feels more confused then ever. But she slowly raises her left hand, fingers daring to touch her ear. She instinctively goes to touch the familiar ridges that lead up to her tip, but she pulls her hand back in a mix of surprise and disgust. What she feels instead of the smoothness of flesh is the rough surface of scabbing skin. And no pointed tip. Valynne feels her heart stop, and in a flurry she grabs the clothes handed to her and sprints away into the forest carelessly while muttering in Elvhen, like all those years ago when she ran away from Duncan at Highever. Twigs and rocks jabbed the soles of her feet, but the Dalish were accustomed to not wearing shoes, and even after the years as a Grey Warden, she still enjoyed going barefoot around, as long as she didn't get any strange looks. Finding a low trickling stream, she finds the slowest moving portion and sits on her knees, peering straight down in search for her reflection. Valynne is more then disappointed at what is gazing back at her. The face is gaunt, cheeks sucked in, dark rings around her eyes, and a missing ear. It looks hideous, and she feels her jaw drop, and with a shaking hand she reaches up to touch the scarred tissue. She sucks in a broken sob and angrily punches her reflection, distortion the surface of the water so that she doesn't have to look at her disfigured face. 

"No, no, no," the Elf growls, slipping back into her native language as a string of halfhearted curses escape her lips.

As the anger slowly washes away, stowing away for later, Valynne ignores the rest of her mutilated body and begins to dress when she'd much rather drown right here in the stream. The shirt is a little too big as she slips it over her shoulders, and she takes the time to roll the sleeves up to her elbows, flaunting the sinuous arms that has carved their way through troves of Darkspawn in the Deep Roads, defended against Human bandits attacking her clan. But right now all Valynne felt was shame about her body and what has happened to it. There's suddenly a growing buzzing sound, scratching incessantly in the back of the skull. Valynne would have scratched, if it weren't under the skin, under her very bones. She thinks that it might be an incoming Darkspawn, but as she finishes buttoning up the cotton shirt and pulling on the pair of dark brown pants, a tall man is approaching her. Valynne doesn't need to know him, let alone recognize him, once he's close enough, the Taint in his blood sings loud and clear. As she finishes dressing, gazing at him expectantly, the man blushes and looks away bashfully, not looking back up until she invites him to.

"You can look. I'm not really showing anything off." 

His blush only deepens, but he does look up and focuses on her face alone. "How are you?"

The question seems foolish, and Valynne blinks and watches him in mild amusement now. "Considering everything... At least I'm alive."

There's a snort, but he chokes it down and clears his throat. "Good. I-I'm glad, I mean." He rubs the back of his neck.

There's more he wants to say, and she knows it. But she decides to bring something up that has risen to her mind since she woke up. "I'm sure you've met him, but how is Duncan fairing?" she questions. "He recruited me a while ago. I got a letter to meet him at Ostagar but..." she trails off, not wanting to divulge about Denerim at all."I'm afraid I couldn't make it, as those things go. Er- I guess."

His face pales considerably, a distant look growing in his eyes as they gloss over. When Valynne stares at him, she finds that the distant buzzing in her left ear doesn't seem as bad, but she knows if someone were to talk to her through that ear, she'd never hear a single word if she doesn't look at them or face them enough. "He... He didn't make it." Came the soft, vacant response.

"Oh..." Valynne mutters quietly, looks anywhere else but at the other Warden. "I'm sorry for your loss. Duncan was a great Grey Warden. A great mentor. The Wardens will never be the same without him."

"It's your loss, too," he responded softly, voice a little choked as he held back what she assumed was tears. 

Her chuckle is dry, in the back of her throat. "We ended on..." She pauses, searching for the correct Human term that would be used there, but it escapes her. "Bad emotions?"

He blinks behind watery eyes, wipes them hastily with the backs of his hands. "In any case, he will be mourned." Then the man smiles a little. "And I think you're looking for, "We ended on sour bad" am I correct?"

Valynne pricks up. "Yes. Exactly."

He chuckles, his spirits feeling a little lifted now. "I'm Alistair, a Grey Warden. But you already know that part."

She returns the smile meekly, ducks her head in a nod. "I am Valynne." Then a moment later after some consideration. "You have me, if you want my help."

His eyes brighten, Alistair's smile widening impossibly so. "Of course!" he responds eagerly. "We can definitely use another Grey Warden."

xXxXx

As it goes, other then experience and advice of that nature, Valynne was rather useless. They had escaped Denerim, all of her belongings left behind in Fort Draken. Armor, weapons, potions. In the civilian clothes, walking among people dressed and armed for combat, she felt small and naked. But she was learning interesting things herself about those that she was traveling with. The Qunari, Sten, was in fact not only his name but also his position within the Qun, Alistair was still a junior Warden, especially in comparison to herself, and Leliana was, of all things, a Cloister Sister skilled with a bow. Valynne could say that she was as skilled as any Dalish hunter. Then the wild witch, Morrigan, claimed that her mother was _Flemeth_ , of all people.

And Valynne was the queen of Orlais.

The Elf slowed her pace behind the rest, giving herself some time to pull the pants up and tighten the belt that Alistair had given her before they began to travel. The boots were nice too, although a little too big and clunky for her small feet. But she was grateful all the same. 

The familiar giggle reached her right ear, and Leliana was consciously aware to stay to the Elf's right side so that she would hear her. "When we get a chance, you will need some proper clothes. I can help you with that, I've been told I have lovely taste," she explains with a smile.

"I need my weapons and armor, first," the Elf grumbles, struggling to tighten the belt around her small frame. She was underweight from lack of proper meals, but a Human man's belt didn't even have enough rungs for a normal sized Elf. "So where are we going?"

"The Frostback Mountains," Leliana answers with a small smile. "To a village called Haven."

"T'is a trap," the witch, Morrigan, says over her shoulder. "The man in Brother Genitivi's home was not his actual assistant, but an impostor who tried to kill us when we pushed harder. We cannot save you forever."

Valynne scowls at the apostate with disdain. "Don't then, you _etunash_." she snaps, then curses under her breath quietly. _"Fenedhis_. _"_

"What did you say?" Leliana asked curiously.

Valynne's head lowers, black waves of hair hiding her face from view, but Leliana can hear the grin on the Elf's face. She's disappointed when the Warden says, "Another time, perhaps I'll translate."

xXxXx

The Frostbacks are so high, and Valynne recalls old stories from her clan that tells of old gods shaping the ground in that manner, so that they touch the heavens. Fortunately, her borrowed boots are water resistant, because they've been traveling through snow for two days already and her feet within are still comfortably dry. For all her traveling with her clan and as a Warden, she had never come to the mountains before, nor has she heard of a village called 'Haven'. As they trudge through the two feet deep snow, which doesn't make much of a difference for someone as tall as Sten, they have to take it slow and press on a little harder to keep an even pace. 

"What made you and Duncan separate on bad terms?" Alistair asked, appearing beside Valynne and falling into step with her. "-if you don't mind my asking." He smiles this charming, puppy-like smile. It's a little bashful and even shy, and she can't bring herself to deny a small explanation into her past- into a portion of Duncan's existence that he had not been graced to experience in their short time together before the tragedy of Ostagar.

"I became a Grey Warden through conscription, I was not a willing participant up until the Joining Ritual itself," the Elf begins with a small shrug, shouldering her small bag over her shoulders. "Ashra and I were attacked by Darkspawn. I was injured and infected from their blood, and she was... Ashra was dragged away. As I lay there dying, she was suffering much worse, and I demanded a search for her before my own rescue, but Duncan was adamant that he save me first, that she was gone for good." There's a pause, and Valynne is surprised by her own shuddering breath that escapes her lungs, and how hard it is to breathe all of the sudden. And she is even more surprised by the tears that prick the corners of her eyes, as though this was something recent and not five years ago.

"Who is Ashra?" he asks before he can stop himself, then frowns. "I'm sorry."

She smiles and shakes her head, not exactly meeting his gaze. The snow is suddenly more interesting, and she stares down at the ground and focuses on walking without tripping over a hidden rock. "No, it's fine. She _was_ my- Ashra was my beloved, we had been courting for some time before this had happened." Alistair looked as if he wanted to ask something else, and Valynne finally looks up at him with an eyebrow arched. "We're talking about Duncan here, not me."

"Right. Go on, then."

"Well, months later, after I survived the Joining, we traveled together. I trained under him, learned of the Order, and of Human civilizations, because I had never left my clan before. Duncan told me that Ashra was most likely dragged into the Deep Roads, and as a Warden, I thought I could survive against the Darkspawn down there and save her. I thought she would be okay, because she was so strong and brave. How could she be taken down so easily, right?" Valynne chuckled huskily and clears her throat. "Duncan told me to forget about her, that she was dead. That what I would find, would be too much for me. I basically called him an idiot and stormed off. He was so patient with me, and I was nothing but an ungrateful, arrogant child to him." There's another soft chuckle, but this time more steady as she regains her composure. "I don't know how he dealt with me. I stormed off, leaving Duncan and Highever behind me to travel to the Deep Roads in search of Ashra. After I escaped the Deep Roads and we found each other again, despite him forgiving me, things never felt the same again."

Silence settles between them.

"Haven," Sten interrupts, pointing to some object far ahead of them up the trail they've been climbing for a few hours now. 

"Oh, thank the Maker," Wynne mutters. "My feet are drenched, I'm getting too old for this."

The start of a snow storm was beginning, and as they near the marked front entrance of the small mountain village, Valynne sees a troubling sight. It's almost entirely empty aside from two heavily armored guards at the front who watches them approaching suspiciously through the so far lightly falling snowflakes. There are no Shem children running, playing in the snow. No one working outside. No merchants. 

"I'm sorry, Morrigan," Valynne apologizes eventually as they reach the guards who block their way into Haven. "You might be right, this looks like a trap."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations:
> 
> Etunash: n. shit, crap, dung, feces.
> 
> Fenedhis: int. a common curse word. While the literal translation would essentially be "Wolf Cock" the use as a curse word in the language is similar to "Shit," "Fuck," or "God Damn".


End file.
